


Bakery

by Comp_Lady



Series: Bakery [1]
Category: Shame (2011), Wanted (2008)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, Innuendo, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:31:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comp_Lady/pseuds/Comp_Lady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A recovering sex addict and a former assassin work together in a bakery, and they fell in love. Oddly, this is not a joke. Meet Brandon Sullivan and Wesley Gibson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shayzgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shayzgirl/gifts).



> For Shayz's prompt: [Brandon/Wesley - cafe/baker owners/runners/works (what? taking them out of their element, it's fun)](http://mcfassy.livejournal.com/247312.html#t4305424)
> 
> [Hey! You can find me on Tumblr, come chat :D](http://comp-lady.tumblr.com)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making customer prone to throwing coffee additives is a Bad Idea™. Brandon Just finds it funny.

"I hate my life, I hate this job, I hate the morons that come in this place, and I hate the fucking food and the fucking drinks and the fucking customers-"

Brandon, despite his best attempts, was doing a very poor job of not laughing at Wesley; Wesley was too wrapped up in his tirade and his attempt to get heavy cream out of the black pants of his uniform (because mouthing off to customers that had just been served was a Bad Idea™) to notice that his boyfriend was laughing at him.

Once he had calmed down enough Brandon pulled Wesley back into a hug, pressing kisses behind his ear, "I like how it looks."

Wesley went still and stared down at the white stains, "NOT HELPING, BRANDON!"


	2. Lick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesley cleans Brandon's hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [From this writing meme on tumblr.](http://comp-lady.tumblr.com/post/18052804227/azryal00-spicedpiano-erik-passionately)

"Wesley..."

"Hmmmm?"

"Please stop."

"Stop what?"

"This," Brandon tried to twitch his right hand out of Wesley's grasp.

Wesley merely smirked and dragged tongue up along Brandon's middle finger, collecting powdered sugar, stopping at the juncture where finger meets palm.

"Why?" Wesley repeated the motion on Brandon's index finger.

"You're killing me!"

"Not really."

"I'm going to die from lack of blood flow to the brain."

"No you won't," another long lick.

"Oh, fuck."

Brandon gripped the workbench behind him for support when Wesley sucked on his ring finger, red lips smirking around the digit.


	3. Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baggage always brings bad days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **SPECIFIC CHAPTER WARNING:** Angst, allusions to sex addiction, depressive actions (not self-harm)

They both have their baggage.

Wesley has his in his past of gangs and guns and violence. Scars that Brandon traces in the dark, memories he'd rather forget, and a quick fire temper and ornery attitude. His baggage is there for the world to see if they care to look.

Brandon keeps his baggage close to his chest, hides it in a dark corner where you could only find it if you looked for it. Wesley knows that Brandon's baggage stems from sex addiction (and Wesley never wants to see Brandon's eyes fill with the fear they held on the day he shared that secret ever again) but he isn't sure just what that baggage entails. He knows the it involves long once-a-month meetings with some support group that Wesley never caught the name of, phone calls from Sissy that Brandon rarely answers and never calls back, and visits to a therapist that have Brandon coming home looking far too vulnerable for Wesley's liking.

They both have their bad days.

Wesley's are full anger and screaming. He's punched holes in the walls and thrown things. He rages at the world. Brandon is always there, whether it is with a calming word or an even calmer touch or by waiting for the rage to wear itself down into exhaustion, he is always there.

Brandon's bad days leave Wesley feeling helpless. The happy, joking Brandon that he fell in love with is replaced by a broken shell. Sometimes he cries, sometimes he'll go the entire day without speaking or eating, sometimes he'll cling to Wesley.

Wesley wishes he knew just what to do on Brandon's bad days. What words to say what actions to take, whatever he had to do to make Brandon feel better.

Because on days like this, where Brandon barely has the strength to get out of bed and won't say anything, Wesley feels helpless. He never knows what to do and the one time he called Brandon's therapist for _any_ sort of advice he got some bullshit, unhelpful "just be there for him" non-answer.

Of course he's going to be there for him. _There's nothing else he can fucking do_.

So he stays. He calls into work, turns off their phones (because he does not want Sissy bothering them), closes the curtains, and curls up beside Brandon.

Wesley doesn't know what else to do.


	4. Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesley gets bored one night. Bugging Brandon seems the obvious solution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Inspired by this tumblr gifest](http://comp-lady.tumblr.com/post/21309347816/czarnyma-i-imagine-wesley-did-something-really)

Brandon usually ignores the phone when Wesley has a late shift. Letting the answering machine pick up for him.

 _*BEEP*_ "Hey, this shit is boring. You should get your ass over here-"

Brandon mutes the messages that aren't important. Most of them are just Wesley trying to distract himself anyway.

 _*BEEP*_ "Vania is making dick shaped muffin-cake things, you should come get one. She's even filled some them with whipped cream and a bit of peeks out of-"

 _*BEEP*_ "I'm bring home a bunch of these dick cakes." _*BEEP*_

 _*BEEP*_ "Fuck man, these dick-cakes are actually really good." _*BEEP*_

 _*BEEP*_ "Holy shit we actually had a customer come in. I think the dude was fucking high; he did buy a dick-cake though. We should convince the boss to-"

 _*BEEP*_ "People would fucking love these things. No really come over here. Or pick up the phone. I'm so fucking bored, bring your laptop or-"

 _*BEEP*_ "I know you're there. Pick up the phone you asshole, you're doing this on purpose, I know you-"

 _*BEEP*_ "This crazy chick with six inch fingernails just came in. That shit was so fucking nasty, what the hell made her think that was a good idea. Creepy-"

 _*BEEP*_ "I think one of these dick-cakes has cancer or some shit because there is this freaky lump on the side of it. You should come and but the cancer-dick-cake out of its misery. It's only-"

Really he could avoid all of this by just turning off the answering machine or unplugging the phone, but Wesley would most likely start calling his cell.

 _*BEEP*_ "BRANDON," and now Wesley has dragged Vania into it, "Brandon, Wes is totally right, you should totally come by and have a di-"

Brandon glances back at the phone as it rings again. Most likely Vania or Wesley again.

 _*BEEP*_ "Okay, me again." Still Vania, but Brandon can hear Wesley laughing in the background. "I'm dying. I have cancer. I have one week to live. I can get the funds I need for treatment if you come in and get some dick-cakes. It's the very worst kind of cancer. Of the..... vulva... you ju-"

Brandon presses the mute button, cutting off the rest of Vania's message. He stares at his laptop for a moment before scoffing. That one was a bit more inventive than usual.

For a long while the phone stays silent. That means that Wesley has either found some other way to entertain himself or there was a sudden rush of customers. The phone rings again and Brandon gets ready to press the mute button again.

 _*BEEP*_ "Brandon, it's Lesley," the shift manager.

Brandon snatches the phone off the cradle before she can get any further, "Lesley, hi, what happened? Is everything ok?"

There is a sigh on the other end of line, exasperated instead of stressed, not an emergency. Brandon can feel the knot in his chest loosen. "Everything is fine. I know this is your night off but would you please come in and humor your idiot boyfriend and his partner in crime?"

"What are they doing now?" He's not entirely sure he actually wants to know.

"Jeff left one of his paintball guns in the coat area. Wesley and Vania have taken it and moved up to the roof and are now shooting things with it."

At that moment there is a loud thud, making Brandon jump out of his skin, blue paint splatters across the glass door leading out to the balcony. Bakery is several blocks away.

Brandon closes his laptop and slips it into his bag, "Yeah I'm coming over. I don't want him getting arrested or something."

Lesley sighs with relief, "thank you so much Brandon, I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I don't mind that much; I'll see you in a few."

With another thank you Lesley hangs up and Brandon, pulling on his shoes, calls Wesley.

"Fucking finally, asshole."

"You shot the window."

"I shot the door actually." In the background Vania laughs

Brandon can practically hear Wesley's smirk. "Same damn thing. Don't shoot the window again, that paint is going to be a pain in the ass to clean and I'm not doing it. Get off the roof and stop shooting things, I'm heading over." Brandon disconnects and crops the handset back in its cradle.

A second paintball hits the door.


End file.
